


long way home

by mvrcredi



Series: cap-iron bingo fills [20]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bearded Steve Rogers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Tony Stark, Parent Steve Rogers, Parent Tony Stark, Presumed Dead, Stony Bingo, Superfamily, Superhusbands, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 04:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18985522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvrcredi/pseuds/mvrcredi
Summary: There’s a tear trailing down Natasha’s cheek, but she schools her expression well. She’s currently holding Peter’s hand, rubbing a careful thumb over in comfort. She smiles sadly at the two of them. “I—““Where is Steve?” Tony blurts with urgency he hadn’t known was in him.Thatwas exactly what was wrong with this. His husband wasn’t here.Why wasn’t his husband here?“Tony he...” Natasha takes a shaky breath. “Steve’s dead.”





	long way home

**Author's Note:**

> fill for my 'presumed dead' bingo square.

Natasha sits him and Peter down on the couch, and almost immediately Tony is brought back to the day Obie sat him down to inform him his parents were dead. A sense of dread sets in his stomach. Regardless of whether or not Obie betrayed him, Tony _knew_ bad news was coming. He _felt_ it.

There’s a tear trailing down Natasha’s cheek, but she schools her expression well. She’s currently holding Peter’s hand, rubbing a careful thumb over in comfort. She smiles sadly at the two of them. “I—“

“Where is Steve?” Tony blurts with urgency he hadn’t known was in him. _That_ was exactly what was wrong with this. His husband wasn’t here. _Why wasn’t his husband here?_

“Tony he...” Natasha takes a shaky breath. “Steve’s dead.”

The words hit Tony like a freight train, and his first instinct is to grab at Peter for comfort. His son goes happily pliant in his arms, just as shocked. Tony’s face is drained of colour, and Natasha looks so _miserable_. Peter is quietly sobbing into his shirt, a patch of wetness growing larger. Tony gestures for Natasha to join the hug, which she does without hesitance.

“How,” Tony manages in a rasp. Then, “Is there... is there a body?”

Natasha pulls away and runs her hand through Peter’s hair, whose face is squished into Tony’s chest. “Not here,” she mouths, looking down at Peter. Tony nods in agreement. Even though Peter himself had become an Avenger, Tony would rather spare him the gory details. Finding out one of his dads had died on mission was painful enough.

So later, when Peter finally cries himself to sleep as Tony comforts him, Tony slips out of the room for a moment to get more information from Natasha.

He meets her in the kitchen, where she’s nursing a tea. Tony slumps into the bar stool next to her, letting out a deep sigh. Now, he didn’t really feel sad. He felt... _numb_ in his disbelief. Tony hadn’t even managed his way past the first stage of grieving.

“So.”

“So,” Natasha huffs into her mug.

Tony chokes back new tears threatening to spill as he asks, “What happened?”

“Mission went south,” Natasha starts, staring intently at her drink. Tony is kind of glad she decides not to meet his gaze—that might make it feel more real, and that was the last thing Tony wanted. It was certainly what he needed, however.

“He ran into some trouble, at the base. There was fighting, and Steve... he sounded hurt. Then we lost contact, and—“ Natasha’s reserve breaks, her voice cracking. “The building exploded right after he went static. He was still inside. We couldn’t find a body.”

“Then he has to still be alive, right? Steve couldn’t—he wouldn’t just—“ Tony was grasping at straws. To the second stage he went.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Natasha finally looks to Tony, and he sees evidence she had also been crying going by her red-rimmed eyes. “He’s... Steve’s gone.”

Tony wished he had her strength and ability to reach acceptance. It was already hard enough Steve Rogers, Captain America, Tony’s _husband_ was _dead._ There was absolutely no _way_ he could accept that.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Natasha adds quietly, “we’re doing another search of the area. Just to... to find something. Anything.”

Tony nods in acknowledgement, but says nothing else. He doesn’t let their shared silence settle for too long before he’s sliding out of his seat and slinking back to his room to lose himself in Steve’s scent. He wears an old, beat-up sweater of his to bed, and sleeps on his husband’s side, hugging the pillow close before finally letting out loud, pained sobs.

 

-=-

 

There’s extra warmth and a dip in the bed when Tony wakes up. For a second, a _second_ Tony is hopeful, excited even. It had just been a bad dream. A really, really bad dream.

But when Tony rolls over he only finds his son, curled up on the other side of the bed. He must have snuck in at some point. The horribleness of reality began to set in once more.

Tony carefully pets Peter’s hair, a gesture he seemed to have adopted as a way of giving comfort. Peter stirs.

“Good morning Pete,” Tony whispers. “Hungry?”

“No,” Peter mumbles. “’M’not hungry.”

“That’s fine,” Tony sighs. “Do you need anything?”

“’Want Pops,” he whimpers, and Tony’s heart breaks. He had hoped Peter would never have to go through something like this. Something so painful. Something that would kill Peter’s constantly upbeat and positive mood. His endless supply of care and love to those near to him. Something that would _break his son_ in a way that may be irreparable. And Tony _hated_ it. Peter didn’t deserve to feel this way, _ever._

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Tony murmurs. “I’m so, _so_ sorry.”

“’S not your fault,” Peter consoles dejectedly. He then moves to sit up, and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Tony notices he’s wearing a shirt way too large for him, a shirt that obviously belonged to Steve. If Tony could recall correctly, Steve had given this one specifically to their son as a sort of hand-me-down since Peter had had an obsession with too-big shirts, and Peter had ended up converting it into a sleepshirt.

“Peter...”

Peter waves a hand, standing and heading for the door. He pauses a second, to look back at Tony. “I’m going to call Ned.”

“Okay,” Tony says, but his reply falls upon deaf ears. Tony sinks back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling Steve had once jokingly covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. Tony had never bothered to take them down since he had found it so frustratingly endearing. How such a large man could be so adorable, Tony wasn’t sure.

Tony should really start referring to Steve in the past tense.

When he eventually gets out of bed much later in the day, he immediately goes down to his workshop and locks himself in in blackout mode. The only person that has— _had—_ an override access code for when Tony was stowed away was Steve. And since Steve was... Tony wouldn’t have anyone to interfere with his work binge. It was likely he’d work himself to a point of exhaustion, and JARVIS would have to let up locking everyone out for his own good. Something Steve had introduced to JARVIS as a means of looking after Tony.

Even in the afterlife, Steve was mother-henning him.

JARVIS informs Tony when he has reached twenty-four, then thirty-six, then forty-eight hours of no sleep. Tony tunes it out from there, finally passing out on his workshop couch around the ninety-six hour mark.

 

-=-

 

“Tony, wake up. You need to eat,” a soft voice followed by gentle pokes come. Tony groans and curls away from the touch.

“’Don’t wanna get up,” he grumbles.

The voice persists, a bit of exasperation creeping into their tone. “You’ve been asleep for nearly two days, Tony. You need to eat something. And probably shower, too.”

Tony cracks an eye open to see Pepper standing over him. He closes his eye again and attempts to tuck himself further into the couch. “Go away.”

Pepper sighs. “Tony, you can’t wallow in here forever. This is hard for everyone else too, you know. We all need each other in a time like this, and that includes you. We need you. _Peter_ needs you.”

Tony tenses. His son. _His son._ How could he had just left Peter alone right now? God, he was such an awful father. What would Steve say?

Pepper obviously notices Tony’s discomfort, moving his legs enough so she can sit down on the couch with him. “That’s not what I meant, Tony, and you know it,” she says to him as if she could read his mind. Tony wouldn’t be surprised if she actually could.

“I just. I don’t know how I can be here for him if I’m off doing this,” Tony bites out into the couch cushion. “How can I be so selfish in a time of grieving that I abandon my own child, who has just lost his _dad._ Tell me, Pepper. Why am I such a bad parent?”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper tuts, tracing soothing circles over his back with her palm. “You are _not_ a bad parent. Not even close. You’re the best father anyone could ask for. I’m sure Peter would say the same.”

“No he wouldn’t,” Tony grovels. “’Cause Steve is the best. _Was_ the best.”

Pepper stays silent. She gets up off the couch, a sad expression on her face as she watches over Tony, who is still shrunk in on himself. At the door of the workshop, she tells him, “They found his shield, by the way. It’s in the common room. Everyone thought to leave that to you. Though, there’s an equal chance Peter has it with him in his room. Now, get something in you to eat for me, alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony mumbles out in agreement.

 

-=-

 

Two months go by. There’s never a funeral service since there’s no body, and no family other than the Avengers to attend anyway. Tony puts up the shield on display in the common room, however, along with Steve’s dog tags. Whenever Steve went out on missions and Tony wouldn’t be there, he would always place the tags around Tony’s neck like he were adorning his husband with the Medal of Honour. Tony could still see his shy smile now, though it simultaneously felt so far away.

In the two months after words Tony never wanted to hear were said, he had managed to accept Steve was gone. That his husband had passed, and was now in a calm, peaceful place, devoid of violence and war. Tony just wished they could have grown old together, before either reached that point of bliss.

Tony was currently having a 3am coffee in the kitchen in silence and almost complete darkness, save for the outside lights flooding in from the windows. Everyone was asleep, according to JARVIS. Tony still found himself having difficulty going to sleep in an empty bed.

At some point during the hour, when Tony was about two-thirds done his second cup, he heard the elevator chime. This immediately put him on edge—no one was up, and yet JARVIS hadn’t called for an intruder. Perhaps the elevator was broken?

Tony is ready to play the defensive when he discovered that, no, the elevator was not in fact broken, but there was shuffling echoing out into the empty room. Like a limp, it sounded. The sound of a duffle dropping to the ground follows, before more rustling and movement. Really, it kind of sounded like someone coming home drunk—and Tony had his fair share of that experience.

Into the light came a figure Tony wanted to call an hallucination. It was Steve, albeit with a beard, bruised and bloodied and _smiling._

“Tony,” Steve breathes out.

Tony stands frozen in his place, eyes wide. “No. It can’t—you’re not real.”

“I _am_ real, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

There’s a moment of hesitance between Tony taking his first steps towards this figment of his imagination, and engulfing the figment in a hug. When Tony feels the solid warmth, he hugs tighter, afraid of Steve disappearing if he were to let go.

“You’re real,” Tony nearly sobs. “You’re real, and such a goddamn _idiot.”_

Steve winces, and Tony isn’t sure if it’s from his reaction or from physical pain only being worsened by Tony’s vicelike grip. Steve presses a kiss to Tony’s hair.

“I am, aren’t I?” He laughs quietly. “I’m so sorry, Tony.”

Tony just shakes his head. “No. Don’t be. You’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

They remain quiet for several minutes following, swaying gently as Tony continues to hold onto Steve with all his might.

“What happened?” Tony eventually asks.

“I escaped Hydra and took the long way home.”

Tony snorts. “Clearly. Two months is two months too long, buddy. You’re lucky if I even let you back into bed with me for two months.”

“Tony—“

“I’m kidding, Steve,” Tony sighs into Steve’s chest. “I’m kidding.”

Tony finally lets go, now convinced Steve was not going anywhere anytime soon. He pulls Steve in for a long, consoling, and a bit of an indulgent kiss.

“I missed those lips of yours, even if they are a bit chapped,” Tony whispers.

Steve smiles, opening his mouth to say something when they hear glass crashing as it hits the floor. They both snap their heads in the direction of the noise to see Clint standing dumbfounded in the kitchen, gaping at Steve.

“Holy shit,” he musters. Then louder, “Holy _shit!”_

Clint runs off, screaming for the others throughout the compound. Steve and Tony both laugh before resting their foreheads against one another’s.

“There goes our peace and quiet, huh?” Steve teases.

“Of course,” Tony hums. “Hey, Steve?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love the beard,” Tony comments before promptly running his fingers over Steve’s jaw. “’Didn’t know you could even grow one. Looks hot, even if you’re covered in blood and dirt and smelling like a wet dog.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head fondly. “Guess I’ll keep it, then?”

“Oh, yeah. You’re keeping it.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you didn't feel too sad! :')  
> (lol, just kidding)
> 
> comments, kudos, and criticism are all appreciated! <3  
> (as well as prompts... those are fun too!)


End file.
